Loose Dogs and Runners Don't Always Mix

I do most of my training on the same routes, following through-streets back and forth in my neighborhood. People have told me it sounds boring, and I suppose it might be for many, but since training is my least favorite aspect of running anyway, I opt for familiarity and convenience over diversity when it comes to choosing my routes. Besides, I like my local course for several reasons: It's on quiet, tree-lined streets with wide sidewalks and very little traffic; There are very few major cross streets to deal with; The neighbors are friendly, and there are usually other runners and walkers out, many of whom are regulars I see almost every day; and finally, something I hadn't thought about much until yesterday: I almost never have to worry about snarling, loose dogs lunging for my calves as I run by. Sure, there are plenty of people out walking their well-trained, good-natured dogs on leashes, and I pass a picket-fence-lined yard where every few months a pair of dogs the size of Vienna sausages happen to be out and run along the fence, barking loudly and defending their turf as though I was trying to cross the Maginot Line. But I'd only been harrassed by a stray dog once.

Until Thursday, when a young German Shepherd mix came charging off its front yard and followed me down the sidewalk, a few inches from my Achilles tendons. I yelled "No!" and came to a halt. The dog backed off slightly, and a man in the next yard said "He's harmless; he's not mine, but he's harmless." I'm sure the guy was really being helpful, and not merely trying to avoid a lawsuit should the dog help himself to a big chunk of my calf, but I thought the insertion of "he's not mine" was amusing. I'm also sure the dog was harmless - in hindsight. But when a dog comes running right at you, growling and barking, how do you really know what its intentions are? That's why leashes and fences, and training, are so important.

As it happens, I've only been bitten by a dog once, and it wasn't running-related. It was during lunch in 5th or 6th grade, and I was riding my skateboard slowly down a hill. Suddenly I felt something bump my upper arm, and I looked around to find myself face to face with a Russian Wolfhound who had silently snuck up behind me, stood up, and somewhat gently bitten my arm. I guess we were equally startled, because we each ran off, in opposite directions. It was one of those dogs with an extremely narrow head and a brain about the size of a pea, and for all I know, it may have thought it was being friendly. But the bite drew blood, so I had to head for the hospital for some shots. Ironically, the doctor who took care of me was the father of the dog's owner, a high school student at my private school, a school that probably no longer allows students' dogs to run loose on campus.

While I have acquired no teeth marks while running, I have accumulated a few canine anecdotes and stories: Once, in college, I was on a training run with some of my cross-country teammates, and a tiny dog started chasing us along its yard, careful to stay a safe distance from us while making sure we knew we were in its territory. It kept its eye on us at all times, which led to its undoing when it ran right into a small tree at the end of its yard! Luckily, neither the dog nor the tree was large enough to cause the other any lasting damage, and perhaps the dog learned a valuable lesson that day.

One of my college roommates, Ted, had a good story about a large, fierce dog that was chained in a fenced yard along one of his running routes near his home in Ohio. Every time Ted ran past the house, the dog would bark, froth, and snarl, and strain mightily against the chain. My friend was more amused than worried, because of the failsafe security of the chain and the high fence, but one day he slowed to a jog and ran closer than usual to the fence in an ill-advised attempt to taunt the beast. About halfway down the block he heard a loud, ominous "crack!", and looked back to see that the dog, after all these months, had finally succeeded in snapping his chain, and was wasting no time running toward the fence. Still, that was a really high fence, so my friend continued his run at a comfortable pace. But now the tone of the barking seemed different in some way, and Ted looked back to discover that the dog had somehow cleared the fence and was barreling down the street in pursuit. Ted's routine long run suddenly morphed into an impromptu fartlek workout as he sprinted to maintain his lead. Somehow he was able to outrun, or at least outlast, the angry dog, who turned back muttering under its breath after a couple blocks. But Ted changed his route the next day, and gained a new respect for large, snarling canines, even those chained and fenced.

My last story (I promise!) involves two very nice bluenose pit bull puppies who followed my group several miles to the parking lot during a run in Forest Park on New Year's Eve. The little guys were very cold and hungry, but thanks to the good work of Kelly and others, they ended up being reunited with their owner within a day or so.

So the moral is, if you own a dog, good training, leashes, and fences are important - for the dog as much as your fellow citizens. And if you're a runner, please don't taunt dogs you encounter along your route! If you want to adopt a well-trained, runner-friendly dog come out to the next dog run organized by Team Red Lizard.